Wednesday, October 11, 2017

30 Days of Kink: 3&4: The Masochism Tango

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

I've always been a masochist. Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, it manifested itself exclusively in oddly fucked up fantasies inspired by scenes in movies or strangely spanking-filled vintage cartoons. Seriously, there are a lot of old cartoons with spanking. Merry Melodies, you are some kinky bastards.

As I aged, I ran into my first bout with depression and I started exploring physical masochism in the form of minor cutting. Well, I say cutting, it was more like thin line abrasion. I would basically scratch lines in my skin with sewing needles, straight pins, or whatever small sharp things that were available and then swipe it with alcohol. I only used a knife once, the very first time. I still have a small scar from that one. I think that's the only scar that's still visible.

I'm sure that particular choice was inspired by my brother, who engaged in self-mutilation for attention when he was a teenager. He even got himself intentionally kicked out of a detention facility because they weren't equipped to deal with self-harm.

But I found it to be a way to relieve the mental shitstorm I was dealing with. I've always been a silent seether. I'm largely non-confrontational, often to a fault. It most situations, I'm flight, unless it's a physical altercation and I hit primal space, then I'm solidly fight and I will attack whatever limb I can reach.

I remember my first flogging, my first beating of any kind really. That weekend was awkward as hell. I was anxious and nauseated pretty much the entire time, but the two beatings I got were the brief moments of peace in that. The nausea faded. The headache disappeared. Everything relaxed. It was absolutely wonderful. I was instantly addicted, although it would be a good while before I was able to do that sort of thing regularly.

I know tops often lament when a bottom is stoic or doesn't make enough noise. I've always been a quiet one, but pain is relaxing to me. I want to lose myself in the sensation, give into the peace of the impact. Now, if it's a more relaxed, casual scene, I'll happily tell you to go fuck yourself if you land a good hit. I'm nice like that. But the more intense or connected scenes I have, the more I slip into the silence of just experiencing the sensations. I'm much the same way with sex, too. I've had to work on making noises, because it doesn't come naturally to me.

I don't know that I would call it subspace. I'm still fully conscious of my surroundings. But I do tend to be very focused on the sensation or lost in thought amidst it. So I find it insanely distracting and mildly irritating to get asked questions in the middle. It's why I hate counting strokes. It ruins the experience for me. I can't go anywhere if I gotta think.

I need a beating right now in the worst way. If I could get a daily dose of it, I'd be all over that shit. The pills aren't doing a great job right now. I haven't gotten a chance to flex my masochistic muscles much at all in the last several months. I can feel the tension in my neck and shoulders, the tightness in my chest. I need to go until I've cried it all out and need to slip into that exhausted coma, preferably in someone's arms.